He had sat by the fire in Vrinduhal listening to the dwarven merchants chatter, sipping tea as the unending snow fell from a sky the colour of steel, the wind sighing against frozen trees as chatter turned to quiet while Silwe continuted to gaze unspeaking into the mesmerizing glow of the campfire, seeking calm, seeking respite.
And then in an instant, the outer world begin to blacken and shrink to an empty space with naught but Silwë and the flickering embers that filled his field of vision and his consciousness, and soon, there was nothing. He opened his eyes, but beheld not Vrinduhal, nor anything else. He was not anywhere. There was no light nor dark, only Silwë and nothingness. But then, a voice. A touch.
Silwë...
A gentle hand on his cheek startled him, and his eyes snapped open again and this time, beheld a gazebo of white marble, sun streaming through its open top and glimmering on the carven columns. A figure sat above him, silvery hair limned in the golden sunlight. His head rested in her lap, his dark hair pooled in the elleth's dusk-coloured, shifting skirts.
It was his wife.
Silwë... What troubles you, my husband?
"Ainurel..." He murmured, finally finding his voice."I... feel... conflicted. Hurt..."
She did not say anything, but stroked his hair, dark as night, back from his face. Her green eyes were kind as she met his gaze. The emotions in which he had been drowning rose to his lips. "It is... Time...Time. I have so little and have had so much. I should have come to you. But yet..."
An unbidden tear slipped unheeded down his cheek. "... there is so much yet to see, to do. As I promised you. I do not know what to do, Ainurel. It is seemingly so small a thing... but yet it gnaws at me, that one day it will all be lost to me. It burns me. Poisons me. And you... I promised you... we would go together. I would show you. You will never see... My love, I am so sorry... I feel so lost."
She kept stroking his hair, soothingly, lovingly. He wept silently, letting his roiling emotions slow to a simmer. She put her hand on his cheek again.
You are a good ellon, husband. You know what to do. Follow your heart, as ever you do.
"I will. But..."
Shh. Rest, Silwë. Your fëa is weary, as is your body.
"...I do not wish to go... Please, let me stay... please." He felt lightheaded, as her touch grew less palpable, the scene turning to mist. He felt soft lips against his brow, and fell into nothingness. "Ainurel... Arimelda... My most beloved..."
He opened his eyes, and the world came back. The wind sighed in the frozen trees, as the snow fell from a dull, storm-grey sky. His tea was still hot. He could not keep doing this. He could not keep fading into... dreams? Madness? Fantasy? And then, as though carried by the wind, an echo of a reply.
I love you, my shining star. Always.
He flattened his hand over his heart, then stood, and filled his mug again with steaming tea, chuckling to one of the dwarves as though all was well. The snowstorm would not break until morning; Rivendell would have to wait, as would he. He returned to his place at the fireside, and peered up into the snowy night.
...You are always with me, arimelda. My everything.
